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REMEMBERING ELVIS ON HIS 60TH
REMEMBERING ELVIS #2
here in springfield,
totemic snowmen line our streets,
washed clean with SNOW & in the air,
pungent is the smell of oak or pine chips,
Elvis' 60th
& 300 miles south at stroke of noon,
a bouffanthaired man unveils Elvis' caped statue
dripping black mascara on rouged cheeks,
a hundred Elvises offer scented hankies,
to five hundred wet-eyed ladies,
ubi sunt, my love can't wait,
ubi sunt...
in Memphis home of bealestreet blues a badass
white boy faked guitar,
learned his lessons so good
Big Mama Thornton thought she heard
HERSELF moan.
Now, on this January 8 you just know that boy
ain't never gonna die.
Robert Johnson
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